


Better than the Last

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffie Headcanons [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Effie's first time as an escort, F/M, Hayffie, Headcanon, drunk haymitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an escort isn't really what Effie thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than the Last

**Author's Note:**

> Betaread by Akachankami.

**Better than the Last**

A strangled shriek escaped her throat as, on the screen of District 12 apartments living-room, the sweet blond girl tribute got stabbed once in the chest and twice in the back. Dead before the games really began. The starting gong was still ringing in her ears.

“But… But…”

She turned her head towards District 12 mentor but the victor seemed more interested in his bottle of wine than on what was happening on screen. The other escorts had warned her it would be so, but she had not wanted to believe it. Of course, then, she had the misfortune of meeting Haymitch Abernathy and she deeply regretted confessing how much she remembered rooting for him during the Quarter Quell in the first seconds she had met him, because, clearly, he didn’t deserve any of her admiration. He was such a disappointment!

“She can’t be dead!” she yelped.

She felt the urge to start crying but she hold it back. An escort didn’t cry, an escort didn’t show any feeling, an escort was there to smile and make everything go according to plan. She trained hard to get where she was.

“Dead as a doornail.” Abernathy sneered, in a matter of fact tone of voice. “You won’t be able to brag to your fellow poultry-escorts, this year. Shame.”

His face expressed clearly that he didn’t mean it for one moment. As if she would care about something like that at a time like this, anyway…

“But she _can’t_ be!” she insisted, waving at the screen as if the girl were going to stand up and admit she was just pretending to be dead.

The man beside her seemed bored with it all. He took another swallow and watched her with something akin to cruelty. “And why would that be?”

“She’s only twelve.” Effie replied softly. “She likes chocolate, she had never tasted chocolate before the train ride, you know. And she helps her mother with laundry, at home. She says she has never seen a fabric as pretty as my dresses’…”

“Didn’t they tell you to never get to know the tribute at escort-school or whatever it is you do?”

She wanted nothing more than to rip the smirk out of his face.

“Of course!” She stiffened a little. “But…” But she hadn’t seen what was wrong with a little conversation here and there, if the schedule was respected. And the girl had been so very sweet… Long, wavy, strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes… She was terrified when she had been reaped and she was crying when Effie had called her for dinner… She could never have left her crying… So she had dried her tears and told her of all the amazing things that awaited them at the Capitol and… “Oh, no!”

Abernathy shook his head as he looked at her, disgust and twisted pleasure in her pain clearly written all over his face for everyone to see. On screen the boy of District 12 had been cornered against a side of the Cornucopia. The alliance of career tributes advanced on him. His mentor only took another swallow of wine.

“No… Run…” Effie begged, knowing it wouldn’t change anything.

Abernathy didn’t even flinch when the big stuffy boy from Two beheaded him with his axe. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy and slightly nauseated.

“His older brother is a baker, he wants to learn his trade when he is done with school” she said, not really knowing why she bothered. It was clear the man sitting next to her on the couch wasn’t interested. He hadn’t exchanged more than four or five words with the children since the reaping and he had never been sober enough to actually learn their names. “He has a girlfriend named Azel. He wants to marry her when they’re old enough.”

“I don’t _fucking_ care!”

The yell took her by surprise but she actually flinched when his empty bottle of wine crashed against the coffee table. Pieces of glass flew everywhere, a fragment must have nicked his palm because he wiped it against his trousers with a curse. It didn’t take him long to snatch another bottle from the liquor cart but when he slumped back on the couch, she knew she had enough. The burning sensation behind her eyes alerted her that, proper or not, she was about to start crying.

“My apologies” she excused herself politely, like her mother taught her. “I don’t feel well. I will be in my room.”

“Oh, no, you don’t” he growled. His hand grabbed her arm in a hard grip before she could even think about moving and she found herself rooted to her spot on the couch, confused and hurt. “You did this. You’re watching.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that. _She_ had most certainly not done anything and she was most certainly _not_ watching.

“You’re hurting me, let go!” She struggled to get free but his hand was a bind around her arm, his fingers were digging into her flesh. She spared a moment of regret for the blue dress she discarded in favor of the pink one she was wearing – the blue one had long sleeves and she would be glad for the additional protection against his madness. His hand was calloused and the feel of it against her skin was disturbing. “I _demand_ you let me go, _you_ _beast_!”

He roared with laughter at that one. “Good one, that. _Beast_. That’s all we are to you, right? _Animals_. Well… You’re watching the bestiary, Trinket.”

He shook her a little and pointed at the screen with the rear-end of the bottle. She had no choice but to watch the games, fat tears she didn’t dare wipe rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t know why she was crying anymore. Was it for their tributes? Out of pure frustration? Stress, maybe. Fear, a little.

When the Cornucopia usual bloodbath actually ended, her make-up was more than probably smeared and her lower lip was bloody from all her nibbling at it, but Abernathy had loosen his grip a little and she was actually glad for the reminder that she wasn’t alone. The games, that year, didn’t hold any appeal to her. For the first time in her life, she didn’t take any pleasure in the slaughter. She couldn’t help but think about the sweet blond girl and the ambitious boy she’d sat with every morning for more than a week.

“I will go see about the bodies.” Abernathy mumbled, finally letting go of her arm. It hurt but no more than the thought that the children were lying in their own blood somewhere in the replica of a desert. She wondered if she should offer him her help. It was clear that he was in no shape to do much more than sleep his wine away but she had no energy left to spare so she let him go.

She had been so desperate to flee to her room before, that she wasn’t sure why she stayed where she was, watching Caesar Flickerman’s enthusiastic face tell them everything there was to know about the arena. She wasn’t sure why she felt the way she was feeling: sorrow, regret, pain and a little slice of guilt. She had done nothing wrong. The Games were a reminder of the Dark Days, of course, but they were also a chance for those children. The Capitol gave them an opportunity to be so much more than what they could ever hope for in their District… All they had to do was win. Everyone had the same chance, the reapings made sure of that. It was fair.

But was it?

How fair was it to confront a twelve years old girl with sixteen years old boys? But those were the odds and they were the same for everyone. They simply had not been in the girl’s favor. Or the boy for that matter. _She_ had done nothing wrong.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, the lights were dimmed and the television screen was black. She startled a little when she saw Abernathy sitting on the coffee table – really not proper behavior, it _was_ mahogany, after all – hands clasped on his knees, watching her with rasp attention. She immediately noticed the absence of liquor. It was the first time she saw him without a bottle glued to his hand.

“Did I do that?” he asked, nodding to something on her right.

Her arm, he meant, and the ugly dark bruises circling just above her elbow, shaped like fingers. “Yes.” No point in lying.

Disgust and shame flashed on his face but were soon carefully hidden behind a mask of indifference. “Let me see.” His hand shot towards her again and she couldn’t help the small flinch when it made contact with her skin. He must have noticed, because his eyes held hers, begging her to trust him. He had nice eyes when they weren’t clouded by alcohol. Grey and shining. “I won’t hurt you.” His touch couldn’t be any more different, it was careful now, almost concerned.

“I know.” She really, _really_ didn’t, but he was obviously a deeply distressed man and she didn’t want to add to his suffering for a mere accident. He hadn’t hit her or been too violent with her, he had just clasped her arm. Her skin was naturally pale, she marked easily. It probably looked worse than it was.

“I just gave you a massive bruise, most people would be afraid of me.” he said, while peering at the ecchymosed area.

“I’m more concerned with how many of my dresses can conceal it from view.” She was being honest. It was warm in the Capitol, most of the dresses she planned on wearing for the duration of the Games were short-sleeved.

“Of course you are.” There was a smirk in his voice, but it wasn’t as mocking as it had been before. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” She would have shrugged if it weren’t so improper. “I would prefer it if you kept your hands to yourself in the future, though.”

“I will do my best on that front, sweetheart” he teased softly. His grin disappeared entirely before she could tell him not to call him by any kind of pet names – though it sure was better than the name he had been calling her since they met, muttered _bitch_ and _damned woman_ were amongst his favorite. “ _This_ will never happen again. I promise. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, you’re not responsible.”

“You were drunk.” she pointed out.

“One thing you should know about me, I’m always drunk.” Abernathy shrugged – obviously, no one ever bothered to tell him how rude that sort of things was.

“How can you be sure it won’t happen again next time you’re drunk?” It was a valid and fair question in her point of view.

He lowered his eyes, his hand slid from her arm and he sat back a little more heavily on the coffee table. “You were kind with the kids, most escorts don’t bother. You had a right to be sad for them, I was wrong to get angry because you were. To tell you the truth, it was not you I was angry at…” He took a deep breath and shrugged again – really clueless of proper behavior. “There’s only one kind of person I want to hurt, you’re not that kind, I should have seen that. You’re safe with me.”

It was an odd thing to say but she sensed she wouldn’t get better in terms of apology so she nodded and decided it was time to get back to business.

“Did you make sure the bodies would be send back to District 12 as soon as possible?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, by hovercraft.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “Eleven’s escort was looking for you. Told her I wasn’t a damned carrier-pigeon but I owe you one, so here… Your friend wants to plan a party.”

She didn’t see what pigeon had to do with everything but she waved his explanation off. “Never mind Viola. Do you think we can send something with the bodies to the families?” The girl liked her dresses so much… “Fabrics, maybe? For their family? Or… Or chocolate.”

Abernathy seemed astonished by her question. “Their children are dead and you want to send them chocolate?”

She flushed red. “No, maybe not chocolate.” It _would_ be very inconsiderate. What was she thinking? “But something to make them feel better, to make sure they know their children were looked after and… To let them know they will be remembered.” Something nice. She wanted to do something nice for them but… What? What do District 12 families needed?

“They won’t be. Not here. The Capitol probably has already forgotten them if they ever knew their names” he scorned.

“I did.” She felt wounded by his prejudice. What rights did he have to accuse the Capitol of something like that. “And I will remember them.”

His face softened a little but she didn’t understand where the pity she could read in his eyes came from.

“Yes, don’t ask me why but I believe you’re foolish that way.” The more they talked, the more she was getting immune to his taunts. “Point is, charity is not appreciated where I come from and I don’t think your Capitol would like it either.”

“But, it’s not charity…”

He didn’t even let her finish. “To you, it isn’t.”

The discussion seemed at an end and she was too aware that, due to his peculiar choice of seat, they were sitting more closely than propriety allowed, so she bid him goodnight and started toward her room.

“Trinket.” Her name stopped her just as she was about to leave the sitting-room. She turned toward him, tilting her head with curiosity. He was still sitting on the table, his clothes in their usual state of disarray but the way he was looking at her was different than before. Less hostile, more amused. “For the record, I like you better than the last escort.”


End file.
